


Confessions

by cherrymelloyello



Category: Looney Tunes, Looney Tunes | Merrie Melodies
Genre: Drama, F/M, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5578399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrymelloyello/pseuds/cherrymelloyello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got a chick on the side, with a crib and a ride<br/>(EDIT, this is awful and horrible and I'm considering tweaking this to be slightly better than what this is.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions

The alarm clock beeped, unpleasantly pulling Bugs out of a deep slumber. His face not even rising from his pillow, he reached for the alarm and banged the snooze button. Peeling the covers off his body, he adjusted himself upright. He sighed heavily and put his hands on his head, working them down all the way to his cheeks. His eyes hurt, it was almost a pain to look across the dark room. His long ears drooped from side to side, his whiskers wiry and tangled. Even though he slept quite heavily, Bugs was exhausted. 

He smelt the cigarette smoke and liquor on his fur. Grimacing, he slogged on to the small bathroom. It was neat, if not a little disheveled. Toothbrush and paste stashed to the right. Lotions and soap to the left. Grabbing the sea-foam green bar, he turned the shower faucet on and twisted it to the right, hoping for hot water. He washed the smoke and alcohol off his light grey fur. It was like the events of last night were trickling down his body and swiveling into the drain, or at least that was what Bugs wanted it to be. 

Bugs twisted the knob to the left. The water stopped, and a thick steam replaced. Almost suffocating in the small room, he rubbed a limp white towel violently all over his body. After his body was at least damp he threw the towel over the railing, nabbed his white gloves and wedding ring and swung open the door. The air was cool and breathable again. He slipped on his gloves, and put the ring on a nightstand. There was no way Bugs could wear that now. It would cause him too much pain. 

He slumped into the kitchen. Eyeing the cheap coffee maker, he opened a container of deep black, grainy substance. He scooped a cup of it and emptied it into the open coffee maker. He then placed a cup under the machine, and sat on a stool at a table in the middle of the room. He sighed. Bugs wondered just how he could get home without his wife noticing, but that was impossible. After a series of ideas  
racked through his brain, he settled on  
the 'studio was filming late' lie. There was always a suspicion hiding behind that thought, that Lola would discover there was no such movie to be filmed, or that the movie filming didn't require him staying away each night. Bugs nervously dismissed it, even if he knew the prediction would be almost always correct. He would have to come up with a more complicated story-

A rumbling outside interrupted Bugs's thoughts. It sounded like a semi truck. 

Could it be the press? Could it? He felt his stomach do acrobatics. His Adam's apple ballooned, leaving a hard painful rock in the middle of his neck. There needed to be some other explanation. There had to be. His eyes darted to the clock. 12:00, right on the dial. Right around the time the garbage people came. Bugs's heart slowed down to a normal pace. Just the garbage men, using their truck to empty out the recycle bin at the edge of the driveway and compact it, then drive away to the next house, never to bother with the building again until next noon. 

The world seemed to stop shaking as Bugs walked over to the coffee machine. He picked up the cup and chugged the contents into his body. He drank his coffee black, and fast. 

"Morning." 

He turned to see a black duck, slouched over, a blue soft robe draped over his body. "Ehh, not exactly." Bugs replied, lifting his arm to point to the round clock, placed on the support beam. Daffy's eyebrows arched. "5 after 12? I haven't slept this late since I got my job. " Bugs placed his cup in the somehow still wet, sudsy sink. "Not even on tha weekends?" he muttered, watching the leftover backwash in his mug being pushed out by sink water. Daffy trudged over to the refrigerator. " No. The grueling demands of a part-time comedian call for you to be bright-eyed and bushy tailed, no matter what day of the week it is." he announced proudly. He still looked very tired, possibly hungover. What happened last night was all but a blur to Bugs, but he remembered Daffy clutching his bottle of grocery store wine quite fondly. "Well, I guess this day's a special occasion." Bugs replied, setting the mug beside the sink. He knew the duck must be exaggerating. Even though he had a liking to Daffy's comedy stylings(Bugs met him at one of his sessions, after all), they never seemed to be 'grueling.' Daffy could easily take the physical abuse that called for his performances any time of day, any day of the week. For a couple of hours on a rickety stage,  
in some obscure, almost ratty club in Burbank, Bugs knew it was a piece of cake for the duck. If any one had 'grueling demands', it was him. Which reminded him of the studio, of the career that he had to uphold, that it could be shattered if anyone found out he was cheating on his wife with a-

"You want somethin' to eat? You look a little sick." 

Bugs craned his neck to see two sleepy green eyes staring back at him. He shook his head. "My coffee was all that I needed." Daffy shrugged. "Okie dokie." He leaned in and puckered his bright orange bill, close enough he brushed upon Bugs's furry cheek. Bugs shoved a gloved hand up to Daffy's lips. "Don't kiss me." he uttered gravely. Daffy seemed to be offended by this gesture, as he scoffed and crossed his feathered arms. "And just why not? We kissed plenty last night." 

Bugs grimaced again, thinking of his actions in the previous evening. "We did a lot of things last night." A lot of things he didn't want to think about. 

"I suppose." Daffy said sharply. He studied the fridge's contents. Seemingly dissatisfied, he slammed the fridge door shut and reached for the bag of the bread on top. While unraveling the plastic tie that closed the bread's bag, he continued. "Are you afraid of your wife finding out about us?" Bugs had heard probably the biggest understatement in his life. He got out of his stool, which protested with a loud screech. The pain of the rabbit's headache returned. He shot a stiff hand to his forehead, rubbing it slowly. "How observant you are, Daff." 

"What's that supposed to mean?"  
"Ugh. Nothin'."  
"It means something, Bugs!"  
"Relax, Daffy. Okay? For once?"  
"Relax?! Really?! I can't relax! I can never relax! Not with you with me!"  
"I never said this was gonna be easy."  
"Uh-huh, you did. The first time I took you to my house." 

Bugs groaned. He honestly loved Daffy, but he was a real pain in the ass. Maybe too much of a pain in the ass to cause all this trouble. He shuffled dismally across the kitchen and into the cramped living room. He spotted his denim jacket strewn across the loveseat. Digging through the pockets, he discovered his half-used pack of cigarettes. "I'm gonna go out!" he hollered. "Be back soon!" was a lisped reply. 

Wandering to the door, he grasped the doorknob and wrenched it open. A loud yell escaped his lips in surprise. 

Daffy jerked his head from his plate of toast. "What?" he exclaimed. He heard loud flashes and cameras rolling and tape recorders being turned on and a whole different array sounds. The duck scrambled to the living room and almost tripped on his webbed feet. Photographers, journalists, reporters, everywhere. Not to mention a gathering of neighbors and onlookers that had surrounded them. The doorway was filled various microphones and equipment, stuffing them in Bugs's face. 

"Why did you do it?" 

"What's her name? Is it a male?"

"What does this say about your sexuality?"

"What's his name?"

"How do you think your wife will respond?"

"Any current films that you're working on?"

"Does this mean you're getting a divorce?"

"What do you think about all of the children that look up to you?"

"How will this affect your career?"

Bugs's head throbbed, his heart sank to his stomach. Two hands fell over his shoulders, and the crowd collectively seemed to turn their attention to Daffy.Bugs desperately wanted a cigarette.


End file.
